THE MENU IS BLOOD SWEAT AND TEARS ?rainstorm

[bai shi ⦸]

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" I CAN HEAR YOUR PULSE RACING FROM HERE! "

The heat had been aggressive as of late, beating down on the great golden beast's scales. They'd been craving a storm to sweep the region, to beat down the dry dust that was rising so often, the dust that clogged their throat and dug into their scars and got under their scales. The blowing sand was no nicer, stinging blind eyes.

The dragon had been in some form of seclusion from the main portion of the group, avoiding other sentient beings if only for the silence it brought them when the memories of war clouded their mind and ears. They could still see battlefields past, and they could still see bodies falling into the grasp of death. They could still remember the small form of their deceased husband ages ago.

On days like today, where the sun burned hot above, heatwaves rising off their scales and the sand around them, the dragon found themselves pondering death. It was the rare sane moment, where as much as their heart hurt, they could think more clearly. The ghosts of their failures gave them some time alone as well, time that they endured through. Sometimes the loneliness was worse, the silence from even their own mind and heart even worse than the clamor. The hum of life was absent from the air and the dragon stood a lonely sentry in a dry desert.

They didn’t know how many days, hours, weeks even had passed since they had left the civilization of The Pitt. They hadn't been bothered to keep track, and couldn't be bothered now to figure it out. They could only surmise that it had been a few days that they had been laying out in the sun and letting sand and dirt drift over them. They hadn't moved for food or drink, their massive body holding enough to sate them for a few days at the least. Form remaining more or less as still as the dead, the beast laid prone as the desert covered their body until they resembled the beginning of a sand dune.

When the deset had begun to claim them, the scent of ain carried thick in the air like a pungent scent. Blinking eyes that could see nothing, the beast licked their lips and released a deep growl. Lifting their head skyward as an ominous snarl of thunder raced through the air, the feeling of rain beginning to lash sun baked scales and mane, the downpour beginning soft and turning driving all too soon. Growling themself at the next snarl of thunder, their joints and bones groaning in protest as they stood up and sand rolled off their body with a violent fshhh sound. Shaking their body under the onslaught of rain, the dragon would turn to amble back towards the city that The Pitt called home, intent on getting barrels out to collect the precious rainwater.